


safe & sound

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted, Jemma Simmons falls asleep against one Leo Fitz in the middle of a long flight. Drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	safe & sound

Halfway across the Atlantic, Fitz pulls his attention out of Time Magazine to realize that Simmons has gone very still, beside him. Where there had previously been the faint shuffling of pages, pen on paper, there is now quiet — without his notice, she’s tipped gently sidewise, the gentle weight of her head against his shoulder. 

Trying to keep his movements minimal, he dog-ears the current page, placing the journal beside him. Carefully, he angles his head a few centimeters to the right, just to be sure — she’s still asleep.

Sun-colored hair spread out in a messy halo about her head, she’s a sight to behold. Mouth slightly open, long eyelashes lean onto her cheeks.

How easily she could pass for a much younger girl, without the weight of her team’s lives pressing onto her brow. She retains the gentle freshness, in sleep, the innocence of four, five years previous — just about the time he met her at Sci-Ops. One side of his mouth turns up, and, lightly, he brushes a stray lock of hair from her cheeks with two fingers.

At her feet fans out a scattered conglomeration of books and collected notes — as well as a few of her own scientific papers, probably. Written in standard MLA, just for her own personal reference. Likely, no one will read those apart from herself, possibly Fitz — it’s just that the structure appeals to her, he thinks.

Legs dangling off the edge of the couch opposite, Skye is the room’s only other current occupant. She’s lost in thought, tapping her fingernails on the metal bracelet she’s no longer required to wear — the same that she keeps around as a challenge. A sort of hacker’s rubik’s cube, tailor-made.

“Skye,” Fitz calls, very softly. So as to keep from waking the girl at his shoulder. _“Skye.”_

She looks up from the the bracelet, eyebrows raised. And he gestures, gingerly, to Simmons’ sleeping face.

_"Oh, my God,"_ Skye mouthes back, eyes immediately lit up with an affectionate smile.

"She’s exhausted," he whispers in response, and Skye gives him, dryly, a _no kidding_ nod. He looks to Simmons’ sleeping face, then back up. Decides, “I think I’m just going to bring her up to bed.”

Skye nods, returns to fiddling with her bracelet once more.

He reaches up to flick off the cabin light directly above them, darkening their section of the compartment. Outside, the moon hangs heavy in a star-freckled sky, but casts little illumination in.

Gently, he slings her arms about his neck, her head canting into his collarbone. Careful not to to shift her too greatly, he hooks one arm under her knees, wrapping the other about her back to lift her from the seat.

“Up we go,” he says, more to himself than her, and settles her into his arms. Straightening up, he’s mindful to avoid both the low ceiling, as well as the papers spread on the carpet.

As he passes, Simmons in his arms, Skye shoots him a fond — and rather knowing — look. Which he very much ignores.

"Night," she says, vaguely amused.

"Goodnight," he replies.

With Simmons’ negligible weight, it’s not much more difficult to climb the spiral staircase than ever, though he takes extra caution with the steps, all the same. A few times, she shifts against him, but never fully wakes. Breath a soft feathering against his neck.

Coulson passes him in the hallway, and turns back for a double-take.

“Fell asleep downstairs,” Fitz mouthes, pausing in his steps. Absently rubbing small circles on her back with his thumb. “Thought she’d be more comfortable in her own bed.”

To his credit, Coulson doesn’t reply — just quirks one side of his mouth and steps to the side, letting him pass.

In the Simmons’ little alcove of a bedroom, the overhead lamp is ignored to keep from disturbing her. With one hand, he keeps her balanced carefully against him, while the other pulls back the immaculately-folded covers. Shifting sleepily, she mumbles a few syllables of nonsense, sounds soft enough to be a song.

Slowly, slowly, he lowers her to the sheets. It feels like a loss when her warmth leaves him.

Curling in on herself, she buries her face in the comforter, soft brown eyelashes fluttering like bird wings. He pulls off her shoes, so she won’t be uncomfortable upon waking, then arranges the blankets around her tenderly, just so.

Shifting sleepily, she mumbles a few syllables of nonsense, sounds soft enough to be a song. Then, something that sounds close to a confused,

_"Hmm — bed?"_

"Yeah," he whispers, fondly. "You dozed off in your chair. Go back to sleep."

She hums in agreement, turning so that she faces away from him. Hair running rampant over the off-white pillow.

"Go back to sleep," he says again, like it’s a lullaby, and reaches for the doorknob.

When he leaves, he leaves the door cracked, as she likes it — allowing light to in from the hall, washing everything — washing her — delicately, in gold.

**Author's Note:**

> Just one of a few short drabbles prompted to me on tumblr. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always, commentary and constructive criticism are very much appreciated, if you can spare the time. ♥


End file.
